I Know You're Tired, Old Man
by L0necl0ud
Summary: Sometimes, after a particularly gruelling day during the season, Doc just barely has the energy to shower and pass out in his hotel room, forgoing dinner. He doesn't see it as being that bad, Lightning would beg to differ.


If for nothing else, everything after and between races made it most obvious how old Doc was growing. He was still adjusting, as well, from his expectations and from his past. He knew racing as once a week, generally on the weekend, and then getting the rest of the week to relax or work on the house, perhaps help out in town. Now it was almost more of a press tour than one of racing. Every day there was some interview, or meet up, or fan meet n greet, or a party they were invited too. There was no break, and Lightning lavished in the attention that came with it.

Doc refused to do so, he was only connected to Lightning, not the sport. The sport had abandoned him, and he was convinced it was his.

Times change, now he knew, this wasn't his sport.

So he tags along, says what's needed, does what's required, cares for Lightning, protects and watches over him fondly.

* * *

It's not that he doesn't like the parties in particular. He's sure that, had he been younger, perhaps born in this era, he'd be just as into the scene as Lightning was.

Lightning danced around, kindly rejected drinks at Doc's stern look, drank a few when he just couldn't resist, and resisted all the woman charming over him, dutifully dedicated to his love Sally.

At least this music wasn't as idiotic and empty as that pop radio junk.

It wasn't country, or rock, hell, Doc wasn't sure what it was, but even with the insane bass it was still more music than the pop was.

Yes, if he didn't get such a migraine, if it didn't require staying out so late, if it didn't require the dancing, if the food was actually decently healthy,

Or maybe if he was simply of a younger age,

He knew he'd like these parties more.

That's why he didn't hate them, and why he watched on in amusement.

Still, he was glad that these events were limited to the larger cities included in the Piston Circuit.

* * *

When he'd get home, he'd stretch, take off his shoes, and briefly observe town through the living room window. He'd take note of the going ons, how the sun reflected off surfaces that particular day, and hum to himself. Then he'd pull back, and he'd set to cleaning.

He'd sweep, vacuum, and mop. He'd wipe off the counties and oven, he'd dust the house, he'd set out clothes on the couch for the day next.

At first, he was cleaning nothing in the house, for it needed no cleaning.

After a year of knowing each other, Lightning always invited himself into the house to seek out or visit Doc.

After, the house somehow always needed a cleaning.

House clean, Doc would make his way into the kitchen, cook up a dinner for himself, or more, if Lightning and Sally, or Lightning and Mater, or even Sheriff were visiting. He'd settle down for dinner with a glass of water, occasionally paired with a can of beer, and eat.

After, he'd make his way back into the living room, read a novel he dug out of the abandoned library nearby, write notes on Lightning's training that day, or even commit his time to a puzzle or crossword.

He'd move to his front porch, sit on the porch swing, half empty now, and pull out a cigarette. He'd gaze on as the town bustled by, watching the sun paint the clouds as it fled. Upon its disappearance, the town mellowed out, tourists leaving or turning in to the Cozy Cone.

Doc made his way to Flo's, and there, as night grew, the deep blue of sleep deepened, the town's residents gathered and recounted their day, every once in a while with a drink or two, courtesy of Flo.

Late at night, they all left the cafe and turned in for the night.

Doc would shower, slip into a robe, set his clothes into the wash, pull out the contents of the dryer and onto the couch to fold come morning, and turned in for sleep.

And still he woke bright and early the next day come day break.

The key was an easy going day.

* * *

Perhaps the parties were how it started.

The food just wasn't healthy there, and they arrived come dinner, and stayed to the later hours of the night.

Doc would just cook when he returned to his hotel, or pick something up at home.

But he would find himself exhausted, and soon he found himself carpooling with Lightning and whatever friends he had gathered to the parties simply so he wouldn't have to drive himself back later come leaving.

And so dinner went un-satiated.

On the particularly tougher days, those including practice and two or more public appearances of one form or another, the same dismissal would occur.

If he could take a nap, if he were younger, if he were as hard willed as he was a year ago...

He'd shoo Lightning off to his own room, effectively setting the young adult loose into the world, and enter his own room. He'd sigh, stretch, twist and pop his back. He'd fold his aviators onto the bedside table, open his suitcase, set out his reading glasses, thin and wire framed, and set them beside the aviators, closer to the mattress.

He'd set out his robe, shower, losses his weakened muscles and stingy tendons under warm water, dry, and slip into his robe.

He'd roll his shoulders, pop his neck, comb his hair, fold his discarded clothes upon the counter to be taken to the laundromat the next day, and enter the main area of his room.

He'd stare at the mini kitchenette, or kitchen if it were a suite, walk over, open the cabinets, check the hotel pamphlet on offered food, shake his head, tossed it into the bedside drawer it came from, and dig through his case again.

He popped a couple pain killers for a head ache, and instead lounged on his bed, flicking on the Television, lighting a cigarette and thus giving no heed to the rules of the hotel. Upon finishing, tired and drowsy, he'd turn off the television, pull out whatever novel happened to be packed, and set to reading it.

He was out before getting through one page.

* * *

Doc never thought it a big deal. He never counted the calories, but he was sure he was eating enough through breakfast and lunch to make up for the once in a while abandoned dinners.

He never took in the activities effect on calorie intake.

But he never lost weight, so why worry.

So he never expected anyone to take notice, much less Lightning, even when the younger visited those particularly harsh evenings.

* * *

"Sal, I need a recipe, or something."

"Huh? You hate cooking stickers."

Lightning huffed, phone wedged between his ear and a raised shoulder as he slid into the rental car he had for this particular city.

"I know, I know. But the hotel here doesn't have food." He started the car, disliking it's quiet murmur of life.

"And you aren't just ordering takeout why?"

Lightning rolled his eyes, clicking his seat belt into place. "Look, Sal, I found out Doc isn't eating some nights."

"Probably too tired to get anything. I wouldn't blame him. He does a lot to stay by your side." Sally spoke with soft admiration and empathy.

Lightning rolled out of his parking space, set his phone to speaker and tossed it into the passenger seat.

"Exactly. So... I need to learn how to cook. You know, cuz, I have to repay him somehow for everything." Lightning pulled out into the street, mentally racking his brain for where he last saw that market a few hours ago.

Sally, clear back in Radiator Springs, lounging on the couch in her and Lightning's apartment as she studied recent stocks, struggled to not point out how many little things Lightning already does to 'repay' Doc, or how his presence alone seems to be enough for Doc.

"Okay, well, I love you and all, but how am I to help when I'm thousands of miles away?"

"How about I call you back at the store, and you lost me ingredients of a recipe? Then I'll call you again at my room and you can walk me through the process."

"I expect you to start cooking for me too when I'm tired."

Lightning could hear the joking tone in Sally's voice. Still, he couldn't help taking the comment seriously.

"Why aren't you just buying takeout for both of you again?"

"You know how stingy Doc is, if it's not from a fancy diner, us, Flor or himself, he won't touch it."

"You mean me, Flo, or himself."

"Ha ha, very funny, Sal."

"Love you, Stickers, call me back."

* * *

Yes, he didn't entirely enjoy the racing sport nowadays.

Yes, there were many days he was left exhausted, and too tired to find food.

Yes, he was often lonely and guarded off, much like he was before Lightning crashed into and fixed Radiator Springs.

However,

Nothing was more rewarding than being the crew chief to Lightning,

Nothing was more fun than training with Lightning, teaching and teasing and tricking the rookie,

And nothing was more entertaining than watching Lightning stumble through the world of popularity, balancing on the line, the cross between cocky and confident versus kind and responsible.

But perhaps nothing was more enlightening, more heart warming, than the moments Lightning surprised him, caring for him and watching over him, consistently pushing past his barriers of solitude to check in on him.

See if he was okay.

Yes, he wasn't one hundred percent sure he trusted all of Lightning's cooking. He wasn't sure Lightning ever cooked before,

But it looked decent, it tasted more than fine, actually.

And Lightning was caring, and taking care of him.

And yeah, half of him, that dignified, loner half, wants to be offended, and say he can't take care of himself,

But the other half, the more powerful half that never denied truths, is grateful, and will always be grateful when Lightning does stuff like this.

Like go out of his way, cook a meal, and balance two plates while taking it into Doc's room so they could eat healthily together, after long, gruelling days, that left them too tired to do much else.


End file.
